


I Hope It Makes Us Stronger

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF, Derek Feels, Derek Loves Stiles, Established Relationship, Hurt Derek, Lunar Eclipse, M/M, Stiles Loves Derek, Teen Wolf AU, minor sterek angst, sterek, stiles leaves derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins in the middle. Stiles leaves, tired of being used by Derek. Neither seems to understand the other. It takes a lunar eclipse, a mistletoe-coated bat, a smidge of badassery, and people almost dying to finally make the picture clear.</p>
<p>"Stiles left.</p>
<p>He walked out the door, and left.</p>
<p>The relief he should have been feeling because of it never came. Stiles stormed to the jeep, perversely irritated that the werewolf didn’t follow him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hope It Makes Us Stronger

Stiles left.

He walked out the door, and left.

The relief he should have been feeling because of it never came. Stiles stormed to the jeep, perversely irritated that the werewolf didn’t follow him.

Whatever. He wiped the tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure if they were coming because he knew it was over, or because there hadn’t been anything there to begin with.

Stiles had always secretly entertained the dream of a perfectly romantic moment, one like this, where Derek would have come running after him, told him that he loved him too, and he was sorry, and swept him up in his solid arms, kissed him, and then pulled him back up to the loft.

But it didn’t happen. He felt his shoulders slump in disappointment. He knew it was a stupid idea. He knew he should never have let himself get this far gone. He knew he never should have slept with the alpha in the first place.

So he got into the jeep, and drove home. He climbed the stairs listlessly to his room, and let himself collapse on the bed. The tears came anew as he curled up on the sheets. He sobbed, and muffled the sound with his pillow, angry at himself for feeling the way he did, angry at Derek for being too broken, or too stupid to try and love him back, and angry at himself again for being too naive, too blind, too invested, to see that Derek never really loved him, but rather, used him.

The thought made Stiles sick to his stomach, almost as much as the thought of each sob he couldn’t contain did. His mind traced and retraced the path that had brought him to this very spot, the breathless, sweaty fucks in the backseat of the Camaro, the comfortable, quiet moments in Derek’s bed at the loft, the few dark, cool rendezvouses in the woods near the Hale house. The one or two frantic poundings in his own bed, when the werewolf had surprised him there.

The thought that it wouldn’t be happening anymore did not bring him the relief he needed. The thought that Derek would simply move on to someone else only brought more pain.

He couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t breathe. All he could do was bury his face in his pillow, and feel his body lurch as he cried.

Somehow, eventually he was able to calm down. It was a brief moment, his eyes puffy, his nose completely useless, and his face crusty with the streaks the tears left as they ran down it. Stiles realized that he was calm just before his eyes slipped closed, and blackness took over his vision as he traveled to the melancholy world of his dreams.

He was roused slightly by the movement around him. The sound of a heavy weight on the mattress as the springs creaked, the feel as it pressed up behind him, wrapped arms around him, and nuzzled the back of his neck, and the faint smell of leather, pine, cologne, sweat, and vanilla.

He knew who it was, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness as he woke fully.

Derek had apparently climbed in through his window.

"What are you doing here?" Stiles asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He really just wanted to be alone, and the last person he needed to see was in his bed, even if, on some level, he did want him there anyway.

"Trying to figure out what to do next." Derek sighed. His tone was heavy with sadness. It pulled at Stiles’ heart, which begged him traitorously to not say what he was thinking, for once.

"You need to go." Stiles said. It felt more spiteful than anything else. He had to protect himself.

"I know." Derek mouthed into Stiles’ neck again. His breath was warm against the human’s skin, prickling it with goosebumps. Stiles sat up, breaking the too-comfortable embrace. He knew if he let it go on for much longer there would be no escape.

"I’m serious. No more of this. No more touching. No more looking at me. No more speaking to me. No more climbing-into-my-room-and-spooning me. None of it."

Derek’s eyes slid shut as he lied there, wanting more than anything to put a palm on Stiles’ back, to bleed out whatever pain he was feeling, just so he wouldn’t have to hear it in the human’s voice.

"Stiles…" Derek pleaded. His voice was still laden with feeling and close to breaking. Stiles did not hear it, would not hear it. Not now.

"No, Derek. It hurts too much. I can’t take it. Please, just- just go." Stiles hung his head, his body tense as he sat there, feeling the mattress shift as the werewolf rolled off and stood up. Stiles couldn’t watch him walk to the window, or even bring himself to look up when the he silently slipped out through it. After many long minutes, he managed to get up, close it, and lock it. he rested the back of a knuckle on the glass, wishing he was stronger. Then he turned around and returned to his bed.

Outside, Derek sat in vigil on the edge of the forest. He watched as Stiles closed and locked the window, and stood there for a second, before turning around and disappearing deeper into the room. He sighed as he watched the ghost of Stiles’ breath fade upon the glass. He wished he could say what he wanted to the human. Better yet, he wished he could pour everything that Stiles made him feel into a touch, or a look, or a kiss. His words had always failed him.

He wished he was stronger. He wished that he could let go. But he wasn’t, he couldn’t. So he watched from afar. He kept the distance Stiles wanted, and he made sure to stay out of sight. But every night, he watched the human stride over to his window, look out into the woods, close his eyes sadly, and step away. It tore Derek up inside. But something kept him rooted on the spot. Something kept him from climbing up there again.

So on the night of the lunar eclipse, when Stiles didn’t appear at the window, Derek felt like he should at least try and move on as well, and turned to walk away, willing himself to put one foot in front of the other. For as much as he hated not being allowed to be with the human, it gave him peace to see him, even if from afar. The feeling clashed with his thoughts inside his head, like waves upon rocks.

He heard leaves crunch beside him, and he turned quickly to see Stiles appear through the foliage, hands in his pocket, flannel shirt hiked up over them, just standing there.

Derek hadn’t even heard him coming, or smelled him. Stupid eclipse.

"How long have you been out here?" The tone was surprisingly not accusatory, there was no anger, and no surprise, either. Some things you could pick up even without heightened senses.

"Not long. I was just leaving, actually." Derek shifted his eyes to the ground and turned to walk away, before Stiles reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Derek—"

"I’ll go. Don’t worry." He shrugged off the proffered hand a little too strongly, vividly aware that the physical contact was more than he had gotten in months, and that he was probably being cruel. After all, Stiles was willingly touching him, something he had essentially sworn off months ago when he had left. Derek wanted nothing more than to let it happen, let it continue, until they were intertwined together like they had been, so long ago. But he couldn’t. He had hurt Stiles once, and he didn’t want to do it again, even if his feelings had changed. Actually, they hadn’t.

Stiles looked at him skeptically, or rather, Derek thought he did. It was dark, and he couldn’t see anything very well. “I didn’t ask you to.”

"Yes you did. I shouldn’t be out here. I’ll leave you alone."

"I never said—" Stiles didn’t make it through his protest before Derek responded.

"Yes you did, Stiles,” his voice surprisingly close to a yell, “You made it abundantly clear that you didn’t want to have anything to do with me. So I’ll go." He had said it over his shoulder, barely making eye contact with the human’s silhouette, and continued walking away. It took every effort he could muster to put one foot in front of the other in the opposite direction of Stiles.

He did not expect the quick crunching of leaves, the hand on his shoulder with more force than before, or the angry countenance of the human so close to his face several seconds later.

"I never said that. I said that I loved you, that I couldn’t take it anymore because you didn’t feel the same way. You fucking used me, Derek. Just like you think everyone uses you.”

Derek was taken aback. The immediate feeling he had was that of anger intermingled with surprise. But deep down, he knew it was true. That realization pained him almost as much as Stiles yelling in his face. But he didn’t say anything. He knew Stiles needed to let it out. Just like before.

—

They had been in the loft. After the ordeal at the hospital, Stiles had slapped the unconscious werewolf awake, knowing full-well that his brushes with death were just that. He had half-dragged, half-supported Derek as they scrambled to get out, narrowly missing both the twins and Kali as they escaped to Derek’s SUV. Stiles had essentially thrown him in, and almost lost his footing as he charged for the driver’s-side door. Before he was even fully strapped in, Stiles had the accelerator punched, tires squealing as they vaulted forward out of the parking lot. He left his jeep where it was, lights on, still running.

By the time they got back to the loft, Derek was still light-headed, but healing from whatever Blake had done to knock him out in the elevator. Stiles helped him to the bed, and went back to lock the door, turn on a few lights, and throw some cold water on his face in front of the bathroom mirror.

Then he heard Derek’s voice.

"Stiles?" He jumped at the sound.

"What?"

"Come here." Stiles frowned and glared at the mirror. He knew that tone of voice. And he was tired. He couldn’t take it anymore. He knew what Derek wanted, and it hurt. It pulled at his heartstrings, threatening to tear it, still beating, out of his chest. Stiles obliged anyway. Because he wanted it. He hated himself for falling into bed with Derek every time he was hurt, or lonely, or sad, hated himself for not being able to separate the sex from his feelings, but he also yearned for it, because he loved Derek. The problem was, Derek didn’t love him back.

The thoughts were almost washed away when Derek pulled him down on the bed and began kissing him fiercely, drinking deep his scent, the taste of his mouth, the sounds from his throat. Almost. Even when Derek was in him, thrusting, panting, their bodies coated in sweat and each other, and even when they came together, like they always did, the thoughts gnawed at the back of Stiles’ mind. He went to sleep with the brooding werewolf wrapped around him, nose buried in the back of his neck, and he almost felt happy. But those same thoughts turned it to poison. Slowly.

—

It didn’t come to a head until the next day.

"With everything that has happened lately, you would think that the least I could get would be an admission that I am more to you than a warm body you use to fight off the loneliness, or sadness, or whatever. But no. You are too fucked up to be in a normal relationship." His nostrils flared in anger. Derek’s eyes flicked back and forth between the human’s, wishing the anger that blazed behind them would go away. He remained silent, as always. Stiles took that as confirmation of what he was saying.

"Well I will no longer be your fucking punching bag. Do you hear me? I want more from you than just some desperate hard fuck in the backseat of your car."

Derek’s thoughts screamed at him. His mouth begged him to say something, to say anything, to tell the human everything he had felt since they had started seeing each other. He almost couldn’t take it anymore, and opened his mouth to say it always meant more to me than that. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Everything around me gets hurt. But he couldn’t. The words caught in his throat.

"Look at you! Even now you can’t even tell me that I am more to you than some random person you occasionally fuck. I’m done. I am so done with your shit." He moved away, eyes darting away from Derek’s, and began gathering his stuff from the few places in the loft that he had kept things. A few shirts, a toothbrush, a small picture frame, and a book were all he threw into his backpack before slung it over one shoulder and made for the door.

"You’re leaving?" Derek’s voice had a hint of a break in it. Just enough to tighten the muscle in Stiles’ chest. He paused and looked back over his shoulder, keeping Derek in his peripheral vision, but not gazing directly at him. He felt his eyes flood with barely-contained tears.

"Yes." He sighed brokenly. "I love you, Derek, but I can’t do this anymore. Because you can’t, or won’t—I don’t know which—love me back, and I - I can’t." It was all he could get out. Stiles couldn’t risk any more words without losing his nerve, or breaking down. He turned away and headed for the door, mostly so Derek couldn’t see his tears, or the red heat that had blossomed on his face and neck.

He had just pulled it open and was about to step over the threshold when Derek spoke for the last time. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”

"I know, but it doesn’t change anything."

So he left.

He walked out the door, and left.

—

Derek worked hard to keep his emotions under wraps. When Stiles finished yelling at him, he couldn’t feel. Everything was numb. He had turned on the spot and strode away, the human rooted to where he had been standing, unable to follow him, the same way he had been unable to chase after Stiles that awful day he had drove away from the loft.

Did he have a plan? No. Well, sort of. He had a hunch. A hunch that he knew were the Darach was keeping the Sheriff. As he got into the camaro, he completely forgot what night it was. He peeled out, tires flicking gravel up into his fenders as he did so. If he couldn’t tell Stiles how he felt, what he meant, he could damn well show him.

When he pulled up into the clearing, he recognized the nemeton immediately. The felled grove of old oaks that had once been a sacred meeting place looked like a battle ground, even at night. All Derek needed was the small door by the rock, the portal to the secret place he had been before. Where Paige had died. Where he and Peter had hid. It would lead into the root cellar there, and that was where, Derek had a hunch, the Sheriff would be. He paced around the clearing, looking for it, groping in the darkness. When he finally found the spot, he brushed away the clump of dead vegetation that nearly obscured it, crackling the hollow collection of twigs in the process. The door forced open easily, and one darkness gave way to another.

It was a cool, damp darkness. But there was a light. A solitary candle on a shelf in the corner, above the place where the old dead tree’s roots met the floor through the hollow space of the cellar. It was there that Derek could make out two figures, seated close in the darkness and the cold, either asleep or unconscious in their seated positions.

Derek really hoped it was sleep. He didn’t even hear the rustle behind him, or feel the impact that slammed him to the ground with a thud. He had a brief thought before he slipped unconscious, one that made him remember what night it was.

—

Stiles found the camaro where Derek had left it. It’s lights were still on. The sight made Stiles’ neck hairs stand up, and he knew he probably shouldn’t have come alone. But he couldn’t risk getting Scott hurt too, not tonight, not with the lunar eclipse staring them all down. If that happened tonight, Stiles would truly have no one. At the same time, he couldn’t have waited for the eclipse to pass, even if it was only a few hours. He knew that Derek may not have that much time. He squashed the thoughts as soon as they crossed his mind. They brought too much pain. The what-if’s and the worst-case scenarios threatened to bring on a panic attack. Stiles fought to remove himself from his mind’s wanderings.

After he had left Derek’s, he managed to go back to the hospital and get his jeep. He was pleased to find it still where he left it, and was surprised that the battery still worked. The lights had been left on for two days. It was a testament to its will to live, really.

He stepped out of the jeep gingerly, like he might disturb the very ground he walked upon, or alert some dark countenance to his presence. He reached behind the seat and pulled out the familiar grey bat he kept back there. Yes, he had a spare. Melissa’s bat was the first thing he had grabbed when they went into the hospital, and he didn’t even think about it at the time.

This bat, however, was special. It was a solid piece of Mountain Ash with a hollow core. He had it specially made. And it wasn’t hollow anymore. Stiles had managed to enlist Deaton’s help to fill the core with molten silver. It wasn’t a lot, just enough to add an extra kick to the overall product, particularly if dealing with werewolves. And Stiles seemed to always deal with werewolves.

And the real extra kick were the contents of the small jars he kept in a wooden box under his seat next to the bat. He remembered them briefly before he pulled out one of the smaller ones, labeled mistletoe in permanent marker on masking tape. In it, a thick, clear liquid was flecked with cinnamon-colored powder. Stiles opened the lid, and carefully poured a small line the length of the bat, save the handle. He really only needed it on the part that would inflict the damage. He rubbed it in, like lotion into dry skin, wiping the excess off of his hands on a towel he kept nearby.

Then, with a sigh that was more a nervous intake and exhale of air, he closed the door quietly, and hefted the bat to his shoulder, and began to search for something, anything, that had pointed out where Derek had gone.

It took him longer than his predecessor due to simple lack of familiarity with the area, but Stiles eventually found the small door leading into the root cellar. He flexed his fingers over the bat’s handle. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

"Well, I should have known you would be close behind." The voice of Jennifer Blake made Stiles jump as he whirled around to face her. He heard another stirring from behind him as he knocked something glass off of a shelf with his elbow inadvertently.

A groggy voice he recognized asked “Stiles? Is that you?”

"…Dad…" His eyes shifted away from the Darach for the briefest of moments, searching for where his father was in the darkness. The distraction was all the evil druid needed. She lunged at him and hissed, eyes glowing white.

Stiles had heard it, though. And he whirled around to catch her square in the shoulder with the bat. She groaned as she slammed into the ground face-first, stunned. The wind was knocked out of her too, Stiles judged, based on the muffled gasp she gave to the dirt. Apparently that was a thing that could still happen to supernatural creatures. Stiles thanked whatever powers that be for that quietly as he stood over her.

He stepped over to the Darach and turned her over, revealing her hideously torn and scarred face that wasn’t there a second ago. If he had sympathy for her, it was before she took his father, his best friend’s mother, and the guy he loved. He put a converse-clad shoe on her neck, and put some weight behind it. The emissary’s eyes went wide as she struggled to breathe.

"If-f you do it, y-you will never be able to d-defeat the alphas. You still n-need me…" She choked.

"I think I can handle myself," Stiles laid the tip of the bat across the Darach’s chest, letting her feel the weight of it. He leaned down over his leg, bringing himself closer to the face of the twisted creature still trying to regain her breath. "But you’re right. I do need you…" He saw the eyes, the ice-blue eyes with speck-like pupils, show the briefest relief. "…I need you to die." Stiles let the words come as a whisper. What relief he saw in Jennifer Blake’s eyes turned to terror as he pulled back and raised the bat over his head.

Then he brought it down on hers. Once, twice, three times. Four. Five. He swung it until his arms grew tired, and his shoes and pants were splattered with gore. He didn’t make Kali’s mistake. Jennifer Blake, Julia Baccari, the Darah, was dead. Five-fold knot complete.

Stiles dropped the bat and rushed to where he had heard his father’s voice. Fumbling with his bounds, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he helped free his dad, who pulled him into a fierce, tear-filled embrace right there on the floor of the root cellar.

Then they pulled apart, and the Sheriff began working on Melissa’s wrist-bounds.

"Where’s Dere—?" Stiles asked, knowing that the werewolf somehow made it down here. He glanced around, and saw the limp, leather jacket-clad body face-down on the floor a few paces away. Stiles scrambled over to him, flailing slightly in the process, and pulled the heavy alpha onto his back. He was dead weight. Not a good sign.

He wrapped his hands around Derek’s face, and shook it, willing him to wake up. He felt around for a pulse, for a breath, but registered neither.

"Derek!" He yelled with a crack in his voice. Part of him hoped that it would rouse the unconscious werewolf that easily. "Derek! Wake up!” He yelled. No use. There was no response. “No no no no no no….” Stiles pleaded, his heart hammering away in his chest with anxiety and fear.

Behind him, the sheriff and Melissa stopped moving. They were staring at Stiles, on his knees, crouched over Derek’s limp form, yelling for him to wake up in the darkness. They didn’t move, because they had watched the Darach take him down when he first got there, or rather, they had been woken by the sound of him hitting the ground. They had seen it when Jennifer Blake rolled him over and felt his neck for a pulse, chiding herself for finding none. “It’s a pity,” she had said. “I could have used him.” She had dragged his body by the roots of the old nemeton, and disappeared into the darkness without another word.

Neither could bring themselves to tell Stiles that. They shared a look. The sheriff swallowed.

He was still begging with Derek’s corpse, his voice weakening with each plea. “C’mon, Der. Wake up.” The tears began to well up as Stiles slowly realized that it wasn’t going to happen. The stupid werewolf had charged in here, probably having forgotten what night it was, that he could be hurt, that he could be destroyed just as easily as the rest of them.

No, he wouldn’t accept it. He couldn’t. The Derek couldn’t be dead. Not now. Not after all the terrible things he had said to him. It was too cruel. Derek couldn’t have left this world after the shitstorm of his life with his last memories being Stiles yelling at him. The human was still crouched over Derek’s limp form when he began to cry in earnest, willing his heart to beat, his lungs to breathe, for some sign of life to show itself as he hung his head between his arms, his hands still clutching the sides of the alpha’s pale face. He didn’t care if Derek ever loved him back, or wanted him in any way, as long as he was still in this world with Stiles. He pressed his lips to the cold ones in front of him in between sobs and slammed his eyes shut, feeling the tears stream out from underneath the lids nonetheless, willing Derek to take whatever he needed to bring himself back through his mouth. The tears splashed down onto Derek’s skin irreverently.

Outside, unbeknownst to them, the moon began to peek out from behind the Earth’s shadow. The slightest glimmer of its usual silvery light poking out from around the dark umbra of the earth. The smallest flicker of a heartbeat came to life in Derek’s chest, and the faintest breath passed his lips, as his inner wolf reawakened.

Stiles didn’t see his eyes flicker open. He didn’t feel the heartbeat begin to strengthen, or the rise and fall of Derek’s chest for the strength of his sobs, and the painful, twisting sensation in his own chest, the one that told him that he was alone, and that he would never get to take back all the horrible things he had said.

He did feel it, though, when Derek reached up a hand and slid it into his hair. Through tear-swollen eyes, glassy and amber-brown, Stiles looked up quickly and met the downturned seafoam-and-gold-flecked eyes of the alpha looking at him weakly, shifting his gaze between them warily, as if to confirm that he wasn’t dreaming, that Derek wasn’t really dead.

"D-Derek?

"Stiles…" It was a whisper, broken and groggy, but it was enough. Stiles’ sob faltered briefly as he gasped against the anguish he had been feeling. He buried his face in the crook Derek’s collarbone, cradling his head in interlocked arms. At first, Derek was unable to move, until he inhaled, taking in the normally-sweet scent of the human, soured by dissipating anguish, fear, and sorrow. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, and felt the human’s heartbeat reverberate in his own body. He tried to pour everything he felt, everything he hadn’t said, everything he wished he could have done differently into the embrace. Every word he had choked back, every touch he had pulled away from, every moment where he ignored an expectant look from Stiles, or the subtle shift in his scent, or the jump in his pulse, all of it, Derek wished he could take them all back, and start over again.

He had never wanted to hurt Stiles. He just… never found the right words. He hoped that now, holding the human in his arms, that he would be stronger.

Stiles lifted his head, and looked back into Derek’s eyes. The question was self-evident. But Stiles asked anyway.

“Why—?” Why? Why would you come here, knowing what could happen? Why would you risk your life when you were at your weakest? All of the questions echoed in Derek’s mind.

Derek’s voice broke as he answered, and he could feel the hot ball of pain and sadness break as his eyes glassed over with tears. “I had to show you. I had to. I couldn’t- I couldn’t say it, but I- I…” Derek gasped, trying to will away the emotions that came screaming to the surface as Stiles looked at him. “…I love you, Stiles.” The words came out easier than he expected. He saw something flash behind Stiles’ eyes and disappear. Relief washed away what was left of the sour pain on his scent, like so much cleansing water. “I always have. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t- I swe—”

Stiles didn’t let him finish. He pressed his lips onto Derek’s, in front of his father, Scott’s mom, the nemeton, and the broken body of Jennifer Blake. He inhaled sharply through his nose, and tasted the warm, cracked and dry breath of Derek’s mouth. He held them together for a long moment, feeling as if the gnawing doubt, the unrequited longing, the pain of what had happened was being seeped away by Derek’s lips on his.

When Stiles pulled back, his breath caught in his throat. Derek leaned up to follow his lips as far as his neck would allow. Stiles brought their foreheads together gently, an intimate space created between their two faces. He closed his eyes, sighed, and said the words, for the first time, not in anger, or awkwardness, but in truth, knowing that he wasn’t alone in feeling it. “I know. I love you too.”

Underneath him, Derek breathed a sigh of relief. He felt stronger.

He had never thought that the lunar eclipse would actually give him the strength he needed to tell Stiles how he felt. But he had hoped. He had hoped it would make him stronger. It made them both stronger.

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is a fill for the amazing sterek-feels, who is the sweetest, most awesome blogger to send me some of the most challenging, angst-filled prompts imaginable. It took me a while, and I’m not sure if it is quite as perfect as she wanted, but here it is anyway.
> 
> Her blog can be found here: http://sterek-feels.tumblr.com/
> 
> Find more of my Sterek-related stuff including fic recs, prompts, and my other ficlets on my blog: www.watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading, Hope you enjoyed it!  
> -Stiles Kolpath


End file.
